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Tyrant
Their corpses had already been rotting for a long time when he finally beheld them. Pale, rotting flesh clothed the dead in hideous, wrinkled clumps. It looked like melted cheese in the spots where the skin had slid from the faces, revealing bones and dark streaks of stagnant blood. They had people once, great rulers of their planets. And now they were empty husks, nothing more than fodder for the worms. He could not look away. Their deathly glow enthralled him. And as the thirteen dead emperors stared up at him, deathly white and cold, he thought he saw their lips curl in smiles or smirks. Perhaps it was their skin tightening around their lips or they were laughing at him from the nothingness, but he could not tell. They were his audience; he was their emperor now. But he wasn’t one of them. He would never be one of them. He found himself shaking, his fingers moving uncontrollably at his sides. He made fists to stop that. These dead men frightened him. They pierced his heart with their unremitting gazes. But they were dead. How could the affect him? He didn’t know. He didn’t want to know. He felt himself trembling again, and this time making fists could not stop it. He didn’t hear the door open behind him. Suddenly, a figure brushed into sight with a dignified, if torpid stroll. The figure looked at the corpses, yawning and unperturbed. “What do you think, Frieza?” the taller figure spoke, barely concealing a second yawn. “Th-they… they’re pathetic, father!” Frieza squeaked out. His voice was quiet, weak, wavering. It was as if his courage had died with the emperors and buried itself in his throat. Speech was not easy in their presence. “Hmm, yes. In their own way,” his father replied. Nodding to himself, King Cold stepped over the malodorous flesh to reach for a bottle of his favorite ice wine. “You know who they are, son?” King Cold asked him as he poured out the magenta liquid into a spotless glass. “W-weaklings…” Frieza stammered. “Kings,” his father corrected him. “Great rulers of entire worlds. They were powerful once.” “Not anymore,” Frieza sneered, though his lips were pursed from the mephitic stench more so than from his glee in lording over them. His iniquitous lord, the death-bringer to the thirteen, smiled and took a long sip from his cup. “Death comes to everyone, Frieza. Even you and I, one day. We will be no better than them,” King Cold gestured to the carcasses. “Kings die in the same manner as everyone else. It doesn’t matter how strong you were in life. Death makes us all equal.” All color drained from Frieza’s small face. His eyes squinted in fear, in horror, over the mere thought of it. How could he ever become like those kings? How could he ever die? He was Frieza! The son of the greatest king the universe had ever known. They were special; they were not like the rest. He didn’t want to be equal. He wanted to be better. He could not be like those lying before him. He would not. So Frieza screwed up his face, forgot the smell of carrion, blinked the tears from his eyes, and looked his father right in the face. “I’ll never die!” It sounded good in his head. It sounded powerful, like the voice of a king’s son, stately and cool, proud and fearless. He was not going to die. He was special. He was strong. He was unwilling. And his will was all that counted. It came out in a desperate gasp, a last throw from child to the universe, beckoning it to take him on. He was not ready, nor willing to do so. But his birthright could not be ignored. Death was so final; he did not ever want to go. The universe would be his one day, and it should always remain his. It wasn’t fair for anyone else to take that from him. Frieza saw the look in his father’s eyes and immediately regretted his declaration. How could he be so stupid to say that?! His father was smarter and older than he. Surely, he knew more about death than Frieza could ever hope to. Still, the boy hated death. He had to try, at least. “I’ll become immortal! Like the gods!” Frieza spoke up, defending himself from his father and the laws of nature in one fell swoop. But his crestfallen, boyish demeanor betrayed his doubt. His father looked at him with those same, disappointed eyes, then took a long drink from his cup, draining its alcoholic contents as if it were his job. He was very good at his job. “Frieza, my son, there are no gods. We are all there is. And as long as we are strong, we will live. But nothing lasts forever. While life is good, make it count.” His father exited even as Frieza’s mind raced about the room, clinging to any furious thought like the crows to meat. There had to be a way to cheat death, some little trick everyone had overlooked. The thirteen emperors, his father, everyone before them, they had been blind. They hadn’t even entertained the idea that one could live forever. Frieza sniffed. He smelled nothing. He felt nothing. The anger, the panic, the deathly fright was gone from him. He was kingly. He was in control of his emotions. He was not weak. He would find a way to immortality. He would search the whole universe if that’s what it took. But he would not die. He would prove his father wrong. Frieza was special. He would never be like anyone else. He would never die. Not today, not tomorrow, not ever. He would do anything, everything, to escape his fate. Kings make their own fate. ---- Today is not the day I die. That was his folly. That was his empty husk. Why had he been such a stupid child? Frieza squirmed in his bed, his eyes shut and his mind wide open. The pain was unbelievable. He whimpered, cried, bit his lip until he tasted blood. And still the shocks of pain came at him. They came in waves, in jolts, and he felt every one of them. Please. Every breath was a screaming pain unknowable and indescribable. Had the thirteen kings his father had showed him all those years ago felt this? Surely not. Had anybody ever felt what he was feeling? How could his father be so cruel? How had could he and his mother have brought Frieza into this world of hurt. He hated them. He wanted to kill them. But he was too weak, in too much delirium. The thoughts were out of his mind with the next wave of pain. Please. He had been a fool, a wretch. He had thought he could find immortality. He had thought he could cheat death. He could be the eternal ruler of the universe. But he wouldn’t. He didn’t want that anymore. He just wanted an end to the pain, to the laborious thoughts of existence. He was not a foolhardy child any longer. He knew his place. He knew what needed to happen. Let me die. He had not the strength to weep, and barely could he moan out when the pains hit him. He absorbed them in quiet, but they were his roaring hell, a great hideous maw reaching up to tear at him as if he were a prized piece of sweetmeat. Then, a light dawned on him. His eyes recoiled, scampering back into the farthest depths of his ravaged skull to escape the piercing shine. He felt something touching him. He wanted to fight it, to push it away, to kill it, but he could not so much as move a muscle. Let me die. He felt himself being pulled out of his cozy bed into the cold of the open air. Liquid flowed off his body and his wounds burned fiercely. He was screaming in his head, but he could not open his mouth. Where was he? Who was he? He didn’t know. He wanted the pain to stop. He wanted to die. But they would not let him. Instead, they pried open his hiding eyes, glaring a monumentally severe light at him. At first, all he saw was white. Then, black spots filled his murky vision, and soon, these faded into sharp reality. Another quiver of pain shot up his body and he let out a hoarse and tortured breath. “Lord Frieza! Lord Frieza!” someone shouted. He didn’t know who Lord Frieza was. Another chirped, “Milord, we rescued you from the ruins of Planet Namek. You were gravely injured. We had to treat you immediately…” The figure went on. He did not care nor hear him anymore. Another flash of pain crippled his body and he felt the shock consume his mind. Fighting back against the pain, he contorted his face into a sneer, pushing all of his remaining energy to his throat. He had to put an end to this. He couldn’t withstand it any longer. An end to this was all he wanted. It was all he could want. “K-kill.. me…” he sobbed. Then there was silence as cold as space itself. Blinking rapidly, he looked around the room, desperate for some acknowledgement that someone, anyone had heard his plea. Then a figured entered his sight, and this man was taller than the rest. He wore a long cape and shining armor. This man was his father, he knew. How he knew, he did not know. Flashes of that day entered his mind then. The pouring of the ice wine. The rotting corpses. The look in his eyes. The disappointment. The naivety. Here again, he saw his father, and he had the same look in his eyes. “Frieza, it’s okay. You’re safe now, son. That detestable monkey won’t win. He won’t kill you. You’re not dying today. We will save you!” His lip trembled again. Fear washed over him with the pain, hand-in-hand. All he could see with his waking eyes was the lifeless stares of the thirteen dead emperors. He had been like them once – the noble lord Frieza, the voices assured him – but now he was nothing. He couldn’t even die. Awards *2014 Official Dragon Ball Fanon Wiki Awards - Best One-shots (nominee). Category:Fan Fiction Category:Canon Respecting Category:One Shot Category:Stories featuring Frieza Category:Stories Featuring King Cold